


in the dead of night, I'm here for you

by military_bluebells



Series: Generation Kill Week [7]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Generation Kill Week, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26881078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/military_bluebells/pseuds/military_bluebells
Summary: Walt makes his way back to his bedroom since he's feeling a little calmer, rubbing a hand against the little stubble he has. He’s wondering if he needs to shave in the morning when he hears faint whimpers and sees the shaking lump on the floor.
Relationships: Walt Hasser/Ray Person
Series: Generation Kill Week [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967950
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	in the dead of night, I'm here for you

**Author's Note:**

> Day 7: Combat Jack/ Everyone's gay for Rudy/ **Bedsharing**

Walt wakes with jerk and gasp. 

The dream that woke him is hazy at best, but he can guess what it was about, what it's always about. One crack of gunfire and a man in a blue jeep. He stares at the wall opposite him, taking a minute to slow down his breathe and loose the tightness in his chest. The room’s dark enough that he can tell it’s nowhere near dawn. He sighs into the darkness and rolls himself out of bed: he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep for a while. 

He glances at the floor as he tip-toes his way to the door, at the lump curled tight in a sleeping bag that rises and falls steadily. How Ray manages to sleep in a sleeping bag in this heat, he doesn’t know. 

He paces around his apartment, checking the locks on the door, and opening some of the windows a crack more, just for something to do to shake the unease from the nightmare. Ray’d call him a ‘little pigtailed girl in pink tutu’ if he was awake, but Walt knows him well enough to recognise that Ray has his own shit to deal with after their clusterfuck of a deployment. Case in point, he wouldn't sleep in the bed. 

He’s just glad that Ray came with him to Virginia at all, even if he drools on his carpet because ‘Walt buddy, this couch is horseshit, it’s like a concrete block with fabric nailed to it’ and moans about corn-fed hicks like he isn’t a red-neck Midwesterner. He’s also glad because Ray’d been so high on Ripped Fuel during the invasion, that the comedown was gonna be a bitch. He’d rather Ray lose his shit away from the other guys: he knows how much Ray hates looking like a pussy even if no one cares. He wouldn't have gone home either, too worried about worrying his mom and grandma. 

So far though, the other shoe hasn’t dropped, but Ray has spent most of his time sleeping, watching TV, and taking Walt's microwave apart to fix the broke piece of shit. 

He gets a cup of water, turns on the radio – quiet enough that he has to strain to hear it properly – and takes small sips by the sink until it’s all gone. 

He makes his way back to his bedroom since he's feeling a little calmer, rubbing a hand against the little stubble he has. He’s wondering if he needs to shave in the morning when he hears faint whimpers and sees the shaking lump on the floor. He immediately stops and crouches, so he doesn’t loom over Ray, before approaching slowly. 

Ray’s kicking about enough that Walt can see his face, contorted like he’s in pain. His breaths aren’t steady anymore, coming out weak and shallow but he’s still asleep. 

Walt considers whether he should wake Ray up or not because for all he’s a skinny little shit, he can fight viciously when he wants to. Walt’s see plenty of people make that mistake, including Brad that one time and he doesn’t want a broken nose this early in the morning. He settles for pushing firmly on Ray’s shoulder before withdrawing out of range. Ray jerks awake, his brown eyes snapping open. 

“You with me?” Walt asks softly. 

“Yeah,” is the short, shaky reply. Ray shivers, his eyes racing around the room before focusing on a point over Walt's shoulder. 

“You need some water?” 

“No thanks.” Walt furrows his brows. Ray’s still coiled like a snake ready to strike and he’s panting enough that his chest is heaving up and down. Walt reaches his arm out slowly to squeeze Ray’s uncovered shoulder. Ray shivers again under his hand and leans into it a little. Walt starts to rub small circles into the soft skin of Ray’s collarbone with his thumb, feeling Ray’s shoulder relax a little. 

“Anything specific?” 

Ray licks his lips and presses them together, a nervous tic, “Yeah, the um… ambush.” 

Walt nods silently and continues with the small circles. Ray shivers again and starts to move out of his sleeping bag, wrestling his legs out. Ray’s tank top looks damp with sweat and it clings to his skin in places. Walt doesn’t like the careful blankness in Ray’s face as he rubs at his eyes, so he leans forward and wraps his arms around Ray’s shoulders. Ray freezes for a second before wrapping his arms around Walt’s waist, burying his face into his neck. 

It’s an awkward position so Walt drags Ray in until he’s pressed against Walt’s chest and sitting between his spread legs. Ray seems a lot smaller like this, curled up in his arms: he hasn’t regained much of the muscle and fat he’d lost so he mostly sharp corners. Walt's shoulder feels damp, so he leans his head against Ray’s and holds him tighter. He rubs Ray’s back – under his shoulder blades and along his spine – until his hand gets numb and then pushes through it because Ray’s still shivering. He thinks about moving his hand into Ray’s hair, into the strands that are brushing his cheek, but he doesn’t want to startle Ray. 

“Thanks Walt.” Walt’s hand freezes before he comes back to himself. 

“You were there for me.” Walt replies. Ray huffs against his shoulder, the puff of air brushing his neck. “Come on, we need sleep.” 

Ray jerks away like he’s been burnt, rubbing at his eyes, “Yeah, ‘course, I’ll just,” he waves awkwardly at the sleeping bag. Walt frowns: he didn’t mean it like that, but he nods anyway, shuffling back into his bed. His chest feels cold all of a sudden. 

Ray pulls off his t-shirt – it was probably making him colder – revealing the tattoos on his chest and underarms. Walt’s seen them enough to know what they are, but he finds himself wishing he could see them better in the darkness. He watches Ray shuffle around, twisting his mouth as Ray turns his back on him, a tremor running down his spine. Walt rolls onto his back and closes his eyes, willing himself to go back to sleep. He can’t though, never when his best friend is shaking from a nightmare less than a foot away from him. 

“Ray?” 

“What?” Ray grumbles, raising his head off the floor. 

“Come up here.” He says, quieter than he’d intended. 

Ray twists his face in fake shock, “Why Mr Hasser, I do believe you are coming onto me.” 

Walt rolls his eyes, “Ray.” 

Ray huffs and wiggles his feet out of the sleeping bag, kicking it to the side, “Fine, I’ll come into your bed Mr Wolf, just don’t defile me, I gotta be a virgin on my weddin’ night.” 

“Like anyone would marry a whiskey tango hick like you.” Walt shoots back because it’s easy and Ray looks a little less wild in the eyes. He hovers by the bed so Walt shuffles over and pats the space next to him. 

Ray drummed his fingers against his thigh – Walt tries not to stare at his hideous boxers or the flat plains of his chest – before he shrugs and flops onto the bed, making it bounce. He shuffles around until Walt sighs and wrestles him onto his chest, his head coming to rest under Walt’s chin. Ray snorts and star fishes, throwing one of his legs across both of Walt’s and curling one arm over Walt’s shoulder. Walt presses one of his hands to the bare skin above Ray’s boxers and links their fingers with their free hands. Ray sighs – a warm puff of air – and goes limp. 

It’s way too warm for this: Walt can already feel their sweat sticking them together, but they’ve slept in worse. He kisses Ray’s temple; Ray’s eyes are closed, and his breaths are slow and deep. Asleep. Walt smiles and presses another kiss to his temple before closing his eyes again, the weight on his chest making him feel secure and grounded. 

He knows he’s going to wake up with a hard on but Ray’s here and they’ve got all the privacy they want, so it won’t be that much of a problem.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I hoped you enjoyed my fics for the Generation Kill Week prompt list, sadly we've come to the end of the week but hopefully the gap between fics will be shorter this time XD


End file.
